house, I called out
lustily, when Hannah came in, and we both, taking courage, went
upstairs, and found that poor Walter was in the hands of these supposed
robbers, who in truth were but bailiffs. They would not trust him out
of their sight for a moment. However, he took it more pleasantly than I
could have supposed possible; prayed me in a whisper to take care of the
child, and I should soon hear from him again. In less than an hour he
was gone. Two days afterwards I received from him a hurried letter,
without address, of which this is a copy:--

DEAR FRIEND,--I slipped from the bailiffs, and here I am in a safe
little tavern in sight of the sea! Mother Country is a very bad parent
to me! Mother Brownrigg herself could scarcely be worse. I shall work
out my passage to some foreign land, and if I can recover my health
(sea-air is bracing), I don't despair of getting my bread honestly,
somehow. If ever I can pay my debts, I may return. But, meanwhile, my
good old tutor, what will you think of me? You to whom my sole return
for so much pains, taken in vain, is another mouth to feed! And no money
to pay for the board! Yet you'll not grudge the child a place at your
table, will you? No, nor kind, saving Mrs. Fielden either,--God bless
her tender, economical soul! You know quite enough of me to be sure that
I shall very soon either free you of the boy, or send you something to
prevent its being an encumbrance. I would say, love and pity the child
for my sake. But I own I feel---By Jove, I must be off; I hear the first
signal from the vessel that--

Yours in haste, J. W. A.

Young Ardworth stopped from the lecture, and sighed heavily. There
seemed to him in this letter worse than a mock gayety,--a certain levity
and recklessness which jarred on his own high principles. And the want
of affection for the child thus abandoned was evident,--not one fond
word. He resumed the statement with a gloomy and disheartened attention.

This was all I heard from my poor, erring Walter for more than three
years; but I knew, in spite of his follies, that his heart was sound at
bottom (the son's eyes brightened here, and he kissed the paper), and
the child was no burden to us; we loved it, not only for Ardworth's
sake, but for its own, and for charity's and Christ's. Ardworth's second
letter was as follows:--

En iterum Crispinus! I am still alive, and getting on in the world,--ay,
and honestly too; I am no longer spending heedlessly; I